


Broken Bones And Privileges, how to make the most out of your car accident

by Elisexyz



Series: How to coexist peacefully (mostly) – Dean and Michael  are roommates AU [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bromance, Car Accidents, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: After a car accident, Dean has to deal with a broken leg and a whole lot of boredom. Michael will probably kill him by the end of the week.





	Broken Bones And Privileges, how to make the most out of your car accident

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am with another one-shot for this AU, even if it's been a while.  
>  Well, finally this is on a lighter note ~~even if I already have an angsty spinoff in mind for this one ops~~. It's also Castiel's introduction, with a brief Crowley-cameo. Because I will involve as many characters that I can in this.  
>  Keep in mind that I have no real medical knowledge and tbqh I haven't even broken a leg ~~for now~~ , so what you'll read in here is a combination of research, imagination and me watching my cousin whine because of her broken leg a couple of years ago.  
>  You can find me on Tumblr as [heytheredeann](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com), if you want. Enjoy!

“May I remind you,” Michael hisses. “that the doctor said that you are supposed to rest-”

“For at least a couple of weeks, yeah,” Dean interrupts, without backing down from his glorious attempt at standing. “I heard him.”

“It doesn’t look like you did,” Michael remarks. He takes a couple of steps towards him, grabs his arm and pushes him back on the couch. “Stay,” he orders.

“I’m not a dog,” Dean frowns. He _knows_ that he’s supposed to rest for a while, and to be quite honest that stupid leg hurts like a son of bitch, but he has just been at the hospital and he couldn’t move, now he’s home and he’s not supposed to move either. What is he gonna _do_ all day long?

“You’re right,” Michael replies. “Dogs are more obedient.”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Dean protests, and it sounds whiny in his own ears, but he’s hurting and his car is half destroyed and Michael is an insensitive monster incapable of empathy, he feels like he has a _right_ to be whiny.

“You wouldn’t be bored if you had been more careful,” Michael says, as if to confirm Dean’s thoughts on his lack of compassion and general humanity. Also, that remark is totally unfair.

“The guy ran a red,” Dean protests, opening his arms in disbelief.

“You were speeding.”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem, if he hadn’t run that red.”

Michael rolls his eyes, handing him the remote. “Just sit here and watch some TV. You’re not supposed to move,” he orders. Dean doesn’t like being babied like that. He doesn’t like all the fuss that that whole thing created, actually.

Calling Dad and Sam had been a little too extreme, if you ask him. Yeah, he had been in a car accident, but it wasn’t like it was anything _that_ serious.

On the other hand, though… “I’d like a sandwich,” Dean smiles widely. Michael, who is now sitting right next to him, turns, raising his eyebrows.

“So?”

“So…” Dean briefly gestures towards his leg, then smiles innocently again.

Michael looks at his face and his legs alternately, then he groans. “I’m going to finish what that bastard started, I swear,” he mumbles, getting up.

“With mustard, please,” Dean calls after him, grinning widely. At the very least he’s going to get some _fun_ out of this whole thing.

When Michael comes back with his sandwich, he makes sure to accidentally bump into Dean’s broken leg. Which results in Dean letting out a faint scream and almost chocking over his own saliva. And no, Michael doesn’t look sorry in the _least_.

“Oh God, not _this_ ,” Michael protests, turning up his nose as he eyes Dr Sexy sceptically.

“I am _injured_ ,” Dean protests, theatrically. “You won’t even let me-”

“Oh, alright, _fine_ ,” Michael gives up. “Just shut up.”

Dean’s probably going to get his face stuck if he keeps grinning like that. But it’s so _rare_ to see Michael being so accommodating. Dean has every intention of enjoying every bit of it.

 

-

When the door rings, Dean’s automatic response is to move to get up, eyes still on the TV, because one of the rules in the house is that he is the one who greets any eventual visitors, because Michael doesn’t like people and there is like a 99% chance that those people are looking for Dean anyway.

They realize that Dean actually _can’t_ answer the door at the same time, so while Dean leans back on the couch, Michael gets up with a huff.

When he opens the door, Castiel is standing in front of it. “I hope this isn’t inappropriate,” he says, with that blank face that kinda reminds Dean of Michael.

“Cas!” Dean yells, from the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Castiel answers, as Michael steps aside to let him in. Thinking about it, Michael has been almost _civil_ with Castiel so far. Meaning that he doesn’t act like he is an annoying mosquito buzzing around his head whenever he opens his mouth. But then again, Castiel doesn’t speak all that much, that’s probably a factor in Michael’s tolerance.

Or maybe, and here Dean allows himself to be a little self-centred, it has something to do with Cas being the one who saved his ass and called 911.

“Oh, he’s alright,” Michael answers for him, closing the door and glaring at Dean. “His usual pain-in-my-ass self. Probably _worse_ than usual, to be precise.”

“Mike here isn’t capable of the tiniest bit of compassion,” Dean complains. “My car and my leg are destroyed, and I am _bored_.”

Castiel frowns. “I think your leg is merely fractured,” he points out.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, probably looking like a dumb fish judging by the tiny grin that appeared on Michael’s face for a couple of seconds, then he sighs. “Cas, it was- Never mind. Wanna join?” he offers, gesturing towards the couch.

“I am not sure that the three of us would be comfortable on that couch,” Castiel points out. “I can just go-”

“No, no, nonsense,” Michael jumps in. “ _I_ will retire in my room, so you two can get to know each other better and enjoy that- _thing_.”

Before any of them can answer, Michael has closed the door to his room and they are left alone in the living room. Well, Dean will have time to torment him later.

“There’s beer in the fridge,” Dean points at the kitchen. “Help yourself, I owe you at least a drink.”

 

As it turns out, Castiel is completely fascinated by Dean’s favourite tv show, which equals to around one thousand points in his favour. He’s studying to become a doctor though, so he also has some remarks on inaccurate medical stuff that he sees on screen, at least up until Dean explains that being accurate when it comes to the procedures isn’t really the point.

“Why is he wearing cowboy boots?” Castiel asks at some point. “Is there some kind of symbolism?”

“Those boots are what makes Dr Sexy _sexy_ ,” Dean explains. If he was in a cartoon, his eyes would probably be sparkling right now.

“I see,” Castiel replies, thoughtfully, his eyes glowed to the television. “ _Nomen omen_.”

Before Dean has the time to reply, the doorbells rings again. He asks Castiel to take it, because he has the feeling that Michael _won’t_ get out of his room any time soon, and behind the door stands Crowley, who looks more than a little taken aback by his encounter with a stranger in Dean’s house.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, confused. They saw each other yesterday, he didn’t think that Crowley would show up again so soon. It could mean one of two things: either he needs something or he’s way more worried than he previously showed.

“I came to see if you had torn your plaster off already,” he says, eyeing Castiel suspiciously. Crowley is still at the door and Dean can’t see Castiel’s face, but he’s sure that he’s going for his creepy blank face. “Who’s this fellow?” Crowley finally asks, gesturing briefly towards him with his head.

“Castiel,” he introduces himself, extending his hand. Crowley takes it, still looking at him as if he were a psycho who could tear his arm off.

“He’s the guy who dragged my ass out of the car,” Dean supplies.

“Aren’t you supposed to _not_ move people who have been in a car accident?” Crowley objects, raising his eyebrow at Castiel as they let go of each other’s hand.

“That’s true, but I noticed that the car that Dean was driving was an old model and I didn’t want to risk it blowing up with him inside,” Castiel explains.

Crowley stares at him for a couple of seconds. “A true modern hero,” he mumbles. “Well,” he adds, louder, smiling widely at Dean. “Have fun with your new boyfriend, darling, I have things to take care of.”

Before Dean can say anything, Crowley has turned his back on them, closing the door behind him. Castiel turns towards him, looking pretty confused. “Why does he think we are courting each other?” he asks.

Dean blinks. “He- He wasn’t being _serious_ ,” he says, feeling his cheeks burning a little because come _on_ , there’s no denying that the guy is hot. “And _please_ , don’t say stuff like ‘courting’ ever gain, even my father would think it’s outdated.”

 

-

“Yeah, I’m as fine as I was yesterday, Sammy,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes theatrically. He can’t help grinning slightly though, because as annoying as Sam’s being with all that concern, it’s nice to be reminded that his little brother still needs him.

“ _So_ not _fine_ ,” Sam replies.

“ _Bored_ , but fine,” Dean explains. “But Mike is at my beck and call, that’s something,” he adds, grinning jokingly and glancing at the door as if Michael could come back from the supermarket right in that moment. Which wouldn’t be that surprising, all things considered, Dean has seen him doing weirder stuff.

“ _Can’t imagine that he’s happy about it_ ,” Sam replies. There’s a hard edge in his voice, and it reminds Dean of when Sam used to fight with their father every single day and Dean tried to argue that Sam wasn’t exactly being _fair_ , most of the time. Actually, they still fight a lot, but the house they are sharing is still standing, which can be considered _progress_.

Dean tends to forget that Michael and Sam don’t really get along. Thing is, those two are his little brother and his roommate, basically his best friend, it’s hard to keep them separated in his mind. Dean’s pretty much convinced that they would like each other, if they _tried_. Or rather, if _Michael_ tried to get over his unnecessary anger about the Ruby-incident. After a couple of tries when the subject came up, seeing Michael’s awful reaction, Dean decided that it isn’t worth discussing, though, because he isn’t going anywhere and maybe if he just ignores it they’ll sort it out on their own. Because that always works out _great_.

He must have stayed silent for too long, because Sam asks: “ _How is your car doing?”_

“Oh, man, don’t get me _started_ ,” Dean complains. “Bobby said he’ll take a look, but it’s destroyed, and it’s _my_ car. But I can’t do shit about it with this thing on my leg.”

“ _You’ll be up and running in no time, you’ll take care of it_ ,” Sam assures. The corner of Dean’s mouth twists into a slight smile at the warmth in his brother’s voice.

 

-

“Will you _stop_ doing that?” Michael finally bursts out, glaring at Dean, who has been rocking back and forth on his chair for the past minutes, during dinner. “Even kids in elementary school know that you don’t do _that_.”

“Come _on_ , I’m sick of staying put,” Dean protests. Really, being unable to move around is driving him crazy. It’s true that you don’t know the true value of something until you’ve lost it. Dean vows to build an altar to his precious legs as soon as he’ll be able to stand.

“You haven’t stayed put for a _second_ today,” Michael replies. “Half an hour ago you were _crawling_ on the floor.”

“I was _bored_.”

“You looked like an oversized worm and if you do it again I swear I’ll kick you out.”

 

-

“Is there any chance that you’ll carry me to my bed?” Dean asks, smiling widely to Michael, who’s shooting him and mildly disgusted look from the other side of the couch.

“Even if I wanted to subject myself to _that_ ,” he replies. “I highly doubt that I’d manage to lift up all those hundreds of pounds.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Dean gaps, acting offended. He hopes that his mouth is shaped into a perfect ‘o’. “Are you trying to suggest that I’m fat?”

Michael’s expression stays neutral, but Dean can see the smirk hidden behind the façade. Michael blatantly checks him out, before stating: “You actually do look like a walrus. You should try-”

“Don’t even _say_ it-”

“-a diet.”

“You _said_ it,” Dean yells, wide-eyed. “How dare you, I am not eating _vegetables_ and avoiding _pies_. You shall apologize to the Apple Pie God that you have just disrespected with your implication.”

“How did this conversation get out of hand so fast?” Michael mutters to himself, standing up. Dean is giggling, and a part of his brain kinda reminds him that he’s acting like an idiot, but all the rest of him just finds it fucking _hilarious_. An Apple Pie _God_. A big pie with arms and eyes and-

“We’ll blame it on the painkillers,” Michael states, offering a helping hand with the same face he would offer to wipe the snot away from a kid’s nose. “And on your tiredness. Come on, off to bed.”

Dean thinks about it for about a split second, before he takes Michael’s hand and decides to _pull_ him down. He realizes a moment too late, when Michael has already lost his balance and has ended up _crashing_ on him, avoiding his injured leg because of some kind of _miracle_ , that it isn’t like in the snow and that there’s no fun in this.

Michael curses under his breath as he tries to push himself up. “I _swear_ , I will _murder_ you in your sleep,” he mumbles.

“Sorry, it was supposed to be funnier,” Dean offers.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” Michael hisses. Dean feels like laughing, because there’s _murder_ in his eyes. I mean, it’s funny. _Murder_.

Michael, to his credit, tries again to help him up, and this time Dean decides that pulling him down wouldn’t be fun. The crutches feel slippery when Dean tries to stand with their help, or maybe it’s just him being light-headed.

They get to the room stumbling – Dean – and cursing – Michael –, but both unharmed. Michael drops him off on the bed with a sigh of relief, and the pillow is _soft_. Dean remembers that the last time he broke his leg he was a kid and his father carried him around the house and Dean made plane-sounds, pretending to fly. Dad also let him and Sam sleep in the big bed with him.

“Keep me company?” Dean asks, when he sees that Michael is ready to leave.

“What?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I want you to stay here,” Dean repeats, feeling a bit like a petulant child, but fuck it, he is _injured_ and he wants company.

“Unbelievable,” Michael mutters, rolling his eyes. “Fine, move over. Just ten minutes though.”

Dean smiles widely as he shifts to make a little more room for Michael, who looks like he’s been asked to clean somebody else’s mess in the bathroom. Dean isn’t offended, though, that’s basically his face half of the time.

“’Night, Mike,” Dean says, cheerfully.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight.”

 

The following morning, Dean wakes up with his leg killing him, a slight headache and Michael still sound asleep next to him.

 

-

He wakes up in a mix of fear from a nightmare and pain from the absence of painkillers in his system.

He stays still for a couple of seconds, grasping for breath and trying to get his heartbeat to slow down. There’re vivid images of flashes of light, the road, his own blood on the wheel in front of his eyes. They feel so real, and yet they are already slipping through his fingers, leaving him with the ghost of his terror.

His throat is hoarse, so when he tries to swallow he ends up coughing like crazy. He is quick to roll on his side and hide his face in the pillow: no need to wake Michael up and make him all cranky because he deprived him from sleep with his coughing fit.

He waits until he’s fairly sure that he won’t bring down the house before deciding to get his crutches and go to the kitchen to get some more painkillers. Usually, when he wakes up in the middle of the night the pain is bearable and he can go back to sleep, so neither him nor Michael ever thought about leaving some next to his bed, but right now he feels like someone is trying to tear his leg in two from the inside or something.

He clenches his jaw as he sits up, carefully eyeing the dark around him, still wary because of the feeling of fear and oppression left from his nightmare. When he tries to reach for his crutches, they fall down with a metallic sound that seems as loud as a thunder to Dean.

“Shit,” he whispers, stiffing as he tries to spot the sound of Michael walking out of his room. He stays like that for at least a minute, but he doesn’t hear anything. It’s a miracle, but apparently Michael is still asleep.

He sighs, which results in another coughing fit promptly suffocated in his pillow, then he tries to stand up, leaning on the bedside table in an attempt to not put any weight at all on that stupid leg. It kinda works, but he can’t possibly hope to get to the kitchen without his crutches, so he bends down in an attempt to reach them and he ends up accidentally putting some weight on his injured leg, which- kinda makes him see black for a second, to be honest.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he lets out, and he’s not even sure that he whispered this one. He immediately lets go of his support and falls soundly on his ass, but at least he’s sitting on the ground and there’s no weight _anywhere_.

Shit, it feels like his leg is about to come off. His eyes are burning from the pain, and he smashes his head against the bed behind him, biting his bottom lip with a suffocated moan of pain.

“Son a _fucking_ bitch,” he keeps cursing, trying to keep his leg as still as possible in the hope that the pain will just go away.

“What exactly do you think you are doing?” Michael asks, because of course now he’s standing by the door and Dean swears to God, if Michael tries to complain he’s going to find a way to get up and _kill_ him. Fuck, it hurts.

“Dying, I think,” Dean complains, trying not to sound as whiny as he feels.

Michael sighs, turning on the lights with a sharp gesture. Dean quickly shuts his eyes.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he protests. “Now I’m blind too.”

“What the hell were you doing?” Michael completely ignores him.

Dean snorts. “Trying to get up,” he replies. “And get some stupid painkillers.” He blinks a couple of times, trying to get used to the light. Thankfully the lamp is behind them, so he can focus on Michael pretty quickly without his eyes burning more than they already did.

Michael sighs, with that condescending expression that he wears whenever Dean fucks something up.

“I’ll get them for you,” he says. “But let’s get you up first.”

Dean almost protests with an indecent scream, because he doesn’t want to imagine what it’ll feel like to try and move that leg, but a) the situation is embarrassing enough as it is; b) it’s not like he can just wait for the painkillers to start working while sitting on the floor in one of the most uncomfortable positions he’s ever tried.

“Why do I get the feeling you think this is my fault?” he asks instead, as Michael bends down and puts his arms below his armpits, giving Dean the chance to hold onto his neck for support.

“Because it is?” Michael suggests.

“I _fell_ ,” Dean protests.

“You should have called me as soon as your crutches fell down.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Well, you woke me up anyway in the end,” he points out. “One, two, three.”

At ‘three’ he starts pulling Dean up, and fuck dignity, Jesus Christ, is someone trying to make his leg explode or what?

“ _Fuck_ , that hurts,” he curses, gripping Michael’s t-shirt tighter and trying not to moan in pain.

“Yeah, and I might get hernia, so try to do your part,” Michael replies, because he’s a dick. Part of Dean surely prefers it to him fussing all over him with a thousand ‘sorry’s. Another part of him is _suffering_ and is pretty fucking offended at Michael’s lack of concern.

Nevertheless, Dean keeps holding onto Michael with his left arm, while he uses his right arm to push himself up, leaning on the bed. He curses a little more – a _lot_ more, if you count his thoughts –, but he survives the whole thing, and apparently his leg is still attached. It doesn’t _feel_ like it, but apparently it is.

Michael turns his back on him without a word and he comes back shortly after with his blessed and amazing painkillers and a bottle of water.

“Here,” he says, putting them on the bedside-table before picking up the crunches. Dean takes the painkillers as quickly as possible: they need at least half an hour to start working, and he can’t fucking _wait_.

Dean looks up to find Michael with his arms crossed, staring creepily at him.

“What?” Dean exhales. He’s probably mad because he woke him up. Well, though luck, he _tried_ not to.

“Next time,” Michael growls. “Just call me if you need something.”

Dean blinks. “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Good,” Michael replies. “Lights on or off?”

“Off, uh, thanks,” Dean mumbles, grabbing his mp3 and his headphone.

Michael nods before turning off the light and heading out.

Forty minutes later, when Dean takes off his headphones to try and get some sleep, he hears Michael still browsing a book in his room.

 

-

“I can’t believe that I am _finally_ free,” Michael exhales, as they get out of the hospital.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “ _I_ am the one who can walk again,” he points out. He feels a bit unstable, like his leg has been asleep for _ages_ and it’s not used to do anything anymore, but he can walk without crutches, which is amazingly refreshing.

“But _I_ am the one who got to babysit you,” Michael replies. “You are cooking dinner tonight. _Finally_.”

“I almost don’t mind it,” Dean confesses. It’ll be good to just walk around without Michael blurting out that he’s supposed to rest. Admittedly, in the last week of his convalescence he was at least allowed to walk around as much as he wanted – well, without overdoing it – instead of being constricted to as much immobility as possible like in the beginning, but it feels _good_ to not be trapped in that _thing_ anymore.

“I can’t wait to take a proper shower without having to do yoga poses to keep the leg dry,” Dean adds, already imagining how much he would relax under his beautiful shower. “ _And_ I can start working on Baby soon.”

“Good, because I’m already tired of public transport,” Michael replies.

“‘There’s _people’_ ,” Dean mocks him, twisting his face into a disgusted grimace. Michael glares at him. Dean smirks, putting his arm around his shoulders and squeezing friendly before letting him go.

“Come on, you can have command of the TV tonight,” he offers.

“About fucking _time_ ,” Michael mutters. It’s been fun watching him having to sit through all Dean’s favourite programs – which means a _lot_ of _Doctor Sexy MD_ –, but if he doesn’t let him take a break he’ll probably end up killing him. And Dean still has a little bit of survival instinct left, fortunately.

Also, the guy kinda deserves it for helping him out.


End file.
